Holding On
by Curly McJimbo
Summary: A man can only be strong for so long. Plaine Puck/Blaine


_Disclaimer – Not Mine_

_Warnings – Mentions of Child Abuse_

_Author Comment – I'm writing some major fluff for these two, and the sugariness was making my teeth hurt, so this happened. I'm not sure I like how it came out, but there are so few Plaine fictions that I thought you guys might like to read it anyway. Requests are welcome and encouraged!__  
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Blaine huffed for the umpteenth time that hour, glaring out of his second storey window. His boyfriend's beat-up Ford pickup had been parked down the street for what felt like an age.

He couldn't work out why Noah wouldn't just come up, or why he was here if he intended to just stay in the car. They didn't have a date scheduled. Maybe he was trying to spy? If so, he was going about it all wrong, the car was way up the street and facing the wrong way. It wasn't as if Puck could have just accidentally ended up parking there, they were 30 minutes from Puck's home and 10 minutes away from anything other than residential properties. For a moment, Blaine worried that Puck was here to break up with him, and was working up the courage, but that didn't make sense either; they'd been good, no, great, yesterday over coffee.

If Puck was out there with a ring, trying to work up a whole different type of courage, Blaine would go mental. They were 18, and had years before that needed to be a concern, Rachel and Finn be damned.

Finally, twenty minutes later, Blaine gave in, grabbing his keys from the sideboard and heading for the front door. He'd barely reached the sidewalk before he realised something was wrong.

Puck had his back to him, but he was definitely in the seat, his slumped form visible over the low back of the seat. Through the wing mirror, Blaine could see flashes of red, and before he knew it he was sprinting at the car.

"Noah!" He reached the window, thankful it was open, and threw his hand against his boyfriend's neck, searching for a pulse. A steady, large hand came up and took his own, and before he knew it Blaine was staring into his boyfriend's red-rimmed eyes.

"Oh thank God." Blaine sighed, frowning as he looked at his boyfriend. Noah was caked in dried blood, tiny little scratches covered his skin, and a few deep bruises lay across his jaw and chest. Blaine reached up to touch one of the bruises lightly, wincing as Puck moved away from the searching hand. "Honey, what happened? What are you doing here? Why didn't you call me, or come up?" Puck shrugged in response, glaring at the steering wheel.

Blaine was used to being the one in a mess. Noah had always been the strong one, holding him as he worked through whatever was wrong that week. This, this was new, and strange, and Blaine had no idea what to do, so he jogged around the car and slid into the passenger side, placing a hand on Puck's elbow. He squeezed a little, rubbing small circles with his thumb, as Puck scrunched up his face, breathing heavily and slowly. Puck looked over to Blaine, but couldn't keep eye contact, throwing glances everywhere and huffing until Blaine's hand came to rest on his cheek. He bit his lip instead, looking at Blaine with sad but defiant eyes.

"My Dad's back in town." And here Blaine thought he was out of his depth already. He put two and two together as he looked at Puck's dishevelled state, and climbed across the car until he was straddling Puck's legs and cradling the mohawked head against his own crisp shirt, blood be damned. For a minute, Blaine thought he'd made the wrong move, as Puck remained frozen in his embrace, but then, slowly, arms crawled around his back, tugging him closer as Puck buried his head in Blaine's chest.

"We got into an argument, and he hit me." The words were a little mumbled, but Blaine heard enough to make sense of it, and his stomach dropped. "I know, it's messed up, but he used to do it all the time before he left. But I'm not a little kid anymore, I can defend myself, I can hit back just as hard, so I did." Puck leant back slightly, looking Blaine in the eyes with a lost puppy face that made Blaine ache. "We scrapped for a little while, he smashed Mum's vase, so Mum got out the shotgun and started threatening both of us if we didn't stop. She said he's staying; the two of them are a unit now, so if I had a problem with him, I needed to get out. So I did." Puck switched his gaze to somewhere off in the distance, his voice going a little steely. "I took Sarah with me, she's staying with Aunt Marie indefinitely. Told Mum that if they tried to get her back, I'd get Child Services involved, I've got enough scars to back up my story. It's not like they wanted either of us around, anyway. This is probably more convenient for them."

"You told me the scars were from football." Blaine murmured, stroking Puck's forehead reassuringly.

"Some of them are." Puck shrugged, leaning in again to rest his face on Blaine's neck. "Not most of them."

"You should go to the police." Puck shrugged again, but the fact he hadn't scoffed told Blaine he was at least thinking about it. "And we need to get you to a hospital. I don't want these cuts to get infected…"

"Yeah, I know." The fact he wasn't even trying to fight was so out of character for the brass kid from Lima Heights. Blaine's frown deepened. "Can we stay for a little longer? "

"Just a little." Blaine stroked the Mohawk below him, placing a firm kiss on the top of Puck's head. "What are you going to do?"

"I was thinking I'd crash at Finn's or Santana's for a week or two, long enough to get some money together for an apartment deposit." Puck shrugged, trying and failing to act nonchalant. "If all else fails, I can crash in the backseat."

"You can stay here with me –"

"No I can't." Puck asserted, the words tickling Blaine's neck. "Your parents hate me."

There was no arguing with that. Blaine knew that his parents were very image-conscious, and though they'd eventually come to terms with his sexuality, they'd never pretended to be happy about Mohawked, leather-loving boyfriend. But they never hit him. They never threatened him with guns. "Well they're away right now, and won't be back for another week and a bit." Blaine lent back this time, dropping onto his heels to look Puck in the eye. "You know, I have savings. I can lend you s-"

"No you can't." Puck interrupted, shaking his head, trying to resist as Blaine cradled his face, but eventually giving in.

"I can help." Blaine punctuated his words with a soft kiss.

"And you are. By being here, like this, with me." Puck placed his hands on Blaine's upper arms, rubbing his palms up and down Blaine's biceps. "You're helping, trust me. Just let me take care of the financial stuff myself, okay?" And suddenly, Puck was moving them around, lying Blaine on his back across the truck's three seats.

"In your truck? Puck, I really don't think this is a good –"

"Shut up." Puck stated, lying down so that he was nestled just under Blaine's chin. Blaine froze, unsure of what to do. "Don't castrate me entirely, Anderson, by making me ask you to hold me." Puck grumbled, relaxing when Blaine's arms wrapped around him. "No one's ever really cuddled me like this before. I've never let them."

Just like that, Blaine's heart broke all over again. "I'm honoured." Noah's weight felt heavy, reassuring, and Blaine ran a slightly shaky hand down the Mohawk beneath his chin. "I love you, you know?" Lips pressed against Blaine's neck, and he could feel them quirk into a smile. Blaine took a deep breath, smiling himself as Puck looked up, smirking at his prep-school wonder kid. Beneath the blood and grime and hurt, Blaine saw a cheeky spark in his boyfriend's eyes. He wasn't okay, but he wasn't beyond repair, either.

"Yeah, Anderson. I know."


End file.
